“And you, what about your commitments?”
“Rehearsals for Jane Eyre begin in London in three weeks. The show begins in October. I have to be back in Paris on Monday to do some recording, and you’re going to come with me.”
She looks startled. “I am? Why?”
I’m making this all up on the spot, but it just feels right, Evie coming to Paris. Nothing has seemed to go right for me for the last year, so I’m not letting this opportunity slip away. “Because I’ll be in Paris and you’ll have to interview me, and many people who know me well live in Paris. Sabine, for one.”
The doubtful look is back. “And how would that work, practically speaking?”
“I have a flat in the 4th arrondissement. A large one. You’d have a room and a study to yourself.” I can see she thinks this arrangement is unseemly. “Come now, we’re old family friends, in a way. And doesn’t it sound nice, summering in Paris?”
“Perhaps,” she hedges.
“It is nice. It’s why I live there. There are seven pâtisseries within five minutes of the flat, and all manner of bookshops and galleries and shows for you to spend your advance on.”
I can see she likes the sound of this but she also wants to remain professional. “I’d want a contract.”
“Of course.”
She studies the tablecloth as if she’s searching desperately for more obstructions or doubts. It’s a big undertaking for her, but a big opportunity as well. Come on, Evie, be brave.
Lifting the brandy balloon, she says, with a wobbly but excited smile, “All right. I’m in.”
Pleasure surges through me. Not only will I be able to tell Martin that the book will be going ahead, but I’ll know that these last months of my public life will change Evie’s life for the better. What I was given won’t die with my career.
“Good girl. Merci beaucoup. I mean that.”
Evie finishes her brandy while I pay the check, and then we head out of the restaurant together. Something giddy has come over her, and when the night air touches her face she yanks out the clip holding up her hair and it tumbles around her shoulders. “It’s cooled down finally!”
It’s such an ingenuous gesture and she turns to me with a delighted smile. I remember the beautiful, submissive passages she wrote about being whipped, and I almost reach out to her, wanting to taste the gloss on her lips. Wanting to ask her if she’s ever experienced it. If she likes it. It’s a moment before I realize that two cabs have slid past, and I flag the next one down.
Opening the door for her, I say, “Are you sure? I haven’t been too pushy, have I? I’ve been told I can be rather demanding.”
She thinks for a moment, and turns her face up to mine and squares her shoulders. “‘I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.’”
A slow smile spreads over my face as I recognize the quote. “And I thought you didn’t like Jane Eyre.”
Evie gives a decisive nod—I wonder if the quote was a test, to see how seriously I take my work—and then gets into the waiting cab. I step in after her, thinking that she needn’t worry about that. I take everything I do very, very seriously.
Chapter Five
Evie
Frederic is waiting for me in the Eurostar ticket hall at St Pancras International. He’s got a cabin bag standing at his side and is looking fresh and neat in a collared shirt and dark jacket. When he sees me coming across the hall he breaks into a smile.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle. Êtes-tu prêt pour nos aventure estivale?” He kisses both my cheeks and takes my suitcase from me.
Coming up on the train from Oxford this morning I felt strangely nervous and hearing his smooth, incomprehensible French makes me panic. “Oh, god. You know I don’t speak French.” I’m trying, though. I downloaded an app and have been saying blanc and pomme and nous avons into it since the morning after Frederic and I had dinner. I learned some German at high school but I’ve never been good with other languages.
But he just smiles. “I’m teasing. If you can point at a croissant, you’ll be fine. Shall we?”
Despite my nerves about the book and the suddenness of the trip to Paris, it feels good to get away from Oxford for the first time in nearly a year. I love the city and the surrounds and my parents' house, but so many recent memories are of the time I spent there with Adam. He has a flat near the university and I can’t think of it without remembering all those times I cried after we made love, sometimes in secret, other times while he looked on, perplexed. For heaven’s sake, Evie. What’s the matter this time? And later, worse, Don’t you think you should see someone about this? It wasn’t craziness or a bad experience that made me cry, but I still don’t know what did.
“Evie?” Frederic has stood up. “We’re boarding.”
“Oh! Right.”
I’ve taken the Eurostar before but I still look with pleasure at the blue, grey and yellow carriages stretching along the platform and the travelers strolling with their cabin bags. There’s something leisurely about train travel, and I love the fact that in less than three hours we’ll get off this same train in the center of Paris.